


Home is where he is.

by LoonyFred



Category: Black Sails, Treasure Island - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-28 23:16:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6349576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyFred/pseuds/LoonyFred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Miranda's house, Billy is waiting for Flint to come home after the battle with the British army.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home is where he is.

"Are you sure, you want to stay?" Ben asks me, standing at the door, piercing me with his scrutinizing look. I dart my eyes up from the pile of dusted dishes on the table, where I am sorting the broken plates, and cups, and saucers from the whole ones. "Teach could surely use your help to plan the defense against the Spanish invasion... Nobody knows how much we've got left to prepare... Everyone's counting on your input, Billy."

"Ben," I interrupt him, "I don't give a fuck what it is that Teach or anyone else is counting on me to do. Teach isn't my captain, I've sworn no oaths to him. Shit, we don't even know whether the Spanish are coming at all, and I sure as hell am not going to bother making any plans whatsoever, until..." I pause, gulping nervously at the thought I don’t wish to have again, the thought I am so desperate to keep off my mind. This very thought that’s kept me restless, has had me sweep, and wash, and clean every fucking object in this goddamn place, the house I used to hate so much, but now - the only place in the whole world that somehow helps me function and keep my sanity intact. Her house. No, not that anymore. It was his house, and this is where I belong now. 

"Until?" Ben echoes my last word, still standing on the porch and with some odd fascination watching me wiping the dust from a porcelain dish. I give him no answer. Ben simply needs none. He knows. Although we’ve never actually discussed it, somehow he figured it out. Maybe it’s cause I’m so tired of keeping my defense up all the time. Maybe, cause of the sleepless night we spent at this house sitting in front of the fireplace, waiting for the news about Vane, talking, sharing stuff about ourselves. That's when I told him about the first time I was kidnapped and enslaved, about Hume and his tortures... I know I would never have opened up about this stuff, but for this house. But for this damned house. It's as if it’s enchanted, but all I could think about inside this place was Flint. All I could talk about was Flint. I remember how painful it was for me to set foot inside for the first fucking time, because it was her fucking place, the place she shared with him. The place he called 'home'. Where they slept beside each other naked. However, when Ben and I had no other choice but to stay here, I soon understood how I was wrong, how dead this place was, with all the uncleansed porcelain, pieces of broken furniture scattered across the floors, dusty curtains. How it was lifeless, without a soul, with not a single glimpse of happiness around. This house is his now. So suited to Flint's broken soul. 

"Why are you doing all this?" Ben inquires, stepping inside. I send him a warning look - he retracts and hurries to wipe the soles of his dirty boots against the rug I’d laid at the door.

“I can’t let this house stay as it is, completely ruined, practically uninhabitable…”

“And you…” he begins, “you’re hoping to… inhabit this place once?”

The thinnest dish almost slips through my fingers as I notice my hands shaking. Yes, goddamit, I am hoping! What can I say, I`m a fucking dreamer. Yet still I don’t know whether my dreams are all I have, or maybe, just maybe there’s still hope…

“Ben, why have you come?”

“To keep you company.”

“I. Don’t. Need. Company. I need the news!”

Ben flinches when I snap at him, and I immediately regret my overreaction. I leave the dishes be and approach him. Place a hand on his shoulder. Oddly, I value this man, even though we met not more than a month ago. But I feel a connection of some sort with him. I know he understands me more than anyone in this crew does, and I appreciate our friendship, because there’s no one else who I can be this open with about the fucking torture my feelings for the Captain are putting me through. Ben doesn’t deserve what I’ve just given him. 

“I`m sorry, Ben… I just…”

“I get it,” he nods, giving me his usual compassionate kindly look. “It’s hard for you, not knowing whether he’s alive or not…”

“It’s not only that,” I give a tired sigh and close my eyes. It’s so damn unbearable, saying this out loud, acknowledging the truth. “I always fought by the Captain’s side, I had his back, kept him out of danger. Whenever we fought, shoulder to shoulder, I always made sure to keep an eye on him. My single job is to protect him. Always has been. And this battle… this one I’ve screwed up. I`m not there! I`m not with him. What if he’s…”

“I know…” Ben says, as he puts his hand on my shoulder and just keeps me company, while I try to get my shit together. I know I can do it. I must.

I’ve been doing it for the past few months, dealing with Flint’s suicidal urges, dragging him away from the pit, where he wanted to fall so badly. The fights for the magistrates, the storm, his madness, when we ended up stuck in the doldrums, the maroon camp… All those times he was so eager to take just one more step and fall into the pit. And all those times I interfered. I killed the enemies, I risked my life at the rig, I survived on the reduced rations, I lied, I manipulated Silver – I was ready to do everything just to keep him out this time. To let him breathe for just one more day. 

Yet the more suicidal he got, the more it exhausted me, this fight, this resistance, until that time, during his fight with the Blackbeard, I understood: I cannot always protect him. One day, he’ll walk right into the Devil’s embrace, and there’s nothing I can do about it…That time I was prepared to see him die right in front of me. Yet he survived again. That’s when it all flushed onto me, a torrent of unbearable excruciating feelings: guilt, anger, despair, shame… I couldn’t forgive myself for just standing there and watching, while Vane did not. That day I promised myself I’d never do this again, I’d never leave Flint be and let him just get himself killed. No matter how much he wants to die, no matter how much more suicidal he gets, I’ll be there and I’ll drag him away from the pit. I won’t let him slip away into his madness anymore. So I decided that time, and now James is out there, fighting against the English, and I`m not with him. And if he doesn’t return, I know I’ll hold myself responsible till the end of my time.  
Ben is standing close, his hand gripping my shoulder tightly. I wonder why he is so kind to me. I don’t think he’s attracted or anything, but I`m sure he also feels this connection. Maybe he knows this feeling, maybe he’s been through something like this before? I suddenly see myself as an arrogant prick, never having asked Ben about his life and his past, always talking about myself.

“I’ll go now,” he mutters quietly, avoiding my eyes. “I’ll come back as soon as there’s any news.”

I let him go and then I get back to my chores, there’s still much to be done before James comes back. This house must truly be enchanted, hell, they say the Barlow woman was a witch. I`m not superstitious, but what if she knew some kind of magic? What else could explain the sudden change of my attitude to this place, as soon as I got inside? I’d expected simply observing her things around to enrage me, but no such thing happened – it was actually curious, going through the stuff she kept here. Because there’s so much of James here: his books, his maps, his weapons, clothes, shirts and breeches – some I know so well, some of them I’ve not once seen him wear.

By the time I manage to drive myself into the state of exhaustion, the house is pristine, the mirrors all shine, and the freshly washed curtains are drying outside. It is only then that I allow myself to get some sleep. Just before I drift into unconscious, a thought flashes through my fatigued mind: what if he doesn’t come back? Will I find a new life here? Will I call this place “home”, because it’s the only connection I have to James? 

I`m not a religious type, but somehow I find myself muttering prayers to Jesus. Let him be safe. Let him come home safe. Guide him home, guide him well. To me.

***

Heavy hoofs knocking along the road wake me up in the morning. 

“The Walrus!” Ben shouts, rushing inside. “They’ve just spotted her on the horizon!”  
My heart skips a beat. Still, I`m not allowing myself any celebration just yet. It’s a good sign, that she’s returning, but it doesn’t mean he is coming back, as well. I don’t know if he’s alive yet.  
“Are they sure it’s her, the Walrus?”  
“They are.” Ben is shining like a gold coin. “It’s a good sign, right? Means that we’ve won!”  
“Must be it.” I nod, my mind still occupied by heavy thoughts, looking past Ben’s shoulder at the children playing in the neighbor’s garden. Curious, how these people aren’t bothered by any of the recent changes. They don’t care whether it is Governor Rogers in charge of Nassau, or Edward Teach. They grow their crops, breed their cattle and sell the goods to whoever is ready to purchase. They suspect I might be a pirate, but it didn’t prevent them from selling me bread, milk and eggs… What if James isn’t on the Walrus? What if he’s been buried in the sea already? Could I stay here, I wonder? No more sailing and plundering, no more death and violence… Just the memories of him accompanied by fantasies of the life we never had a chance to build together.

“You’re coming, aren’t you?” Ben wonders, touching my shoulder gently. “I suppose you want to be the first on that beach? We still got about four or five hours.”  
I shake my head. I understand something now: if James isn’t there amongst the survivors, there’s no place for me on that beach. I’d have to pretend to feel enthralled by the victory, I’d have to cheer with my mates, but how? The feeling of losing him would make a wreck out of me in mere seconds. I really ought to survive it on my own, if I must.  
“I cannot, Ben. If he’s…” I lower my voice to whisper, “If he’s not… there… I’d be ruined. I cannot look the men in the eyes and be expected to smile, when all I would want is to go drown in the sea... I`m gonna stay here. You go and celebrate with the others, and if James is there, tell him where to find me.”

Ben leaves. So I wait. The time seems stuck, frozen, crawling like a snail. The wait is excruciating. I want to hope for the best, but some part of me doesn’t let it happen. No matter how hard I want to believe that James is alive, there’s some nasty little demon sitting on my shoulder whispering in my ear, “What if? What if?” Suddenly I understand how it was for Miranda Barlow all those years, the dread she had to feel every single time James sailed away. How foolish of me was to be jealous, when really I was the lucky one with the advantage of having Flint’s back, protecting him from danger, while all she could do is sit at this very table and fear for his life. 

That’s when I tell myself “Enough!” I take the buckets and walk to the well to fetch fresh water. If James is coming back, I`m going to make sure, that home is waiting for him, along with a hot bath and a fresh meal. I let the preparations occupy my mind completely, not having a single glimpse of approaching doom wander in. Hours fly by, and with time I find myself in a state of odd serenity and fulfillment. Also, acceptance. Come what may, I’m thinking, this is all I can do right now, even if it may all be in vain, I have nothing more to offer. I cannot turn back time.

In a few hours’ time, it’s all ready: the curtains are ironed and back on the windows, the porcelain – shining, fresh clothes are waiting for James in his bedroom, and the delicious flavor of hot chicken broth floats in the air. Hot water for the bath's already boiling in the cauldron. I start to get nervous again. It’s been hours already…  
I decide to go outside, get some air and rinse my face with the fresh water from the well. Cool drops slide down my cheeks, lips and neck, bringing the feeling of refreshment and sanity. Maybe it’s not that bad. It would surely take him a couple hours to adjust to the situation. Maybe he went to see Teach first. Maybe fuck knows what happened that’s keeping him away. He’ll come… I know he will… He cannot have left me, I refuse to believe it. I simply cannot accept the fact that one time on the beach was the last time I looked into his eyes. It can’t have been, it just…

I flinch when I think I hear something. I freeze and listen closely. No mistake – one horse. Galloping. I suppress my first urge to rush forward. No. Not like that. Home doesn’t run to a man, a man runs for it. I want to be this for James. I want him to feel at home with me. This is why I meet him standing on the porch. The moment he spots me, his eyes are fixed – he doesn’t avert his look, not once, even when he jumps off the horseback, even when he ties it to the pole – his gaze is on me, and mine – on him. 

I smile. I cannot help myself. Seeing him alive and uninjured sends my heart to a joyful dance. I can feel it beating rapidly in my chest. I can hardly breathe, overwhelmed with sheer delight. How little I need to be this happy, really! Just to know he’s alright, he’s breathing, he’s looking at me. He’s noticing me.

Flint walks to me, and pauses at the porch, standing there, not sure what it is he needs to say, or maybe expecting me to say something. Though I don’t have any words myself, so I just stand there, smiling like a fool. He’s embarrassed, I notice that in a moment. Sort of opens his mouth to say something nice – I can tell it by that half smile of his – but comes up with something else instead:  
“Billy, what the fuck are you doing here?” 

The moment I hear this awkward question, I realize that he gets it. He gets it all. This. Coming home. Home being me, instead of whatever the fuck he had been expecting it to be. I chuckle at the thought. I know my Captain well enough to tell that he’s liking what he seeing, but he’s too stubborn to admit it just yet. So I knock the earth off his feet once again.

“The water’s boiling,” I say. “You must be tired and hungry. Come.”

I don’t wait for him to process that, I know he’ll follow me, as I go inside. I know as much, because he came here, and I also know there was only one reason to come, and that reason is me.  
The state of the house shocks him. He stops in the middle of the kitchen, gazing over the cleaned surfaces, the dishes, the curtains, the wooden bathtub in front of the fireplace, as I pour in the boiling water from the cauldron mixing it with the cool one I had brought from the well a little earlier.

“What the fuck have you done with all the stuff?” is his second question. This time he frowns. I`m not bothered. I understand how he might have wanted to feel ruined and desperate over the mess this place was, how he wanted to mourn Miranda just a little bit longer. Maybe it was selfish of me to deal with it like that, maybe I had no right to do it, if that’s what he thinks, fine, I’ll live with that. But I refuse to let him indulge in his depression anymore, no matter how bittersweet it could feel. Miranda Barlow is dead. And he is not. And Neither am I. That’s the reality, and I`m going to help him accept it. Hell, I`m going to make him accept it, even if he wants none. Too bad for James Flint, I love him too much to let go.

I stand tall, looking him in the eyes, as I shrug and drop as casually as I can:  
“Some stuff I cleaned, other stuff I put away, the rubbish – I burned.”  
That’s when I give him the smallest chance to feel furious. He approaches, deep frown on his face, eyes flashing vigorously, right hand on the hilt of the knife. I suppress a nervous chuckle, because his reaction is exactly how I predicted. I said those words on purpose, and this was it. If he needs to feel a little bit of rage – now is his only chance.

“What did you burn, Billy?” he raises his voice at the end of his sentence, desperate to sound dangerous, but I know he won’t hurt me. Never.

“Mostly the broken furniture,” I reply with a smile, waiting for him to come closer. “Broken by you, I presume? During your rage outbursts?”

Next moment his face relaxes, he gives a relieved sigh.

“What a fascination you are, James,” I call him this for the first time, catching him off guard, knocking his armor down. He freezes one step away from me. “For years we’ve sailed together, we’ve killed together, I’ve always been by your side, yet still, so little you know about me. So little regards you have for me, that you’re able to imagine I’d want to destroy things you hold dear, things you see sacred, things of your past, containing memories that make you you. And out of what? Stupid jealousy? I think I’m already past it. Look me in the eyes and say, whether you think I’m capable of hurting you like that?” 

“Billy…” he mutters, swallowing nervously, as he watches me close in on him, as I take him by his collar, so not gently, drag him closer and sneer right into his face: “If you want me gone, please say so. Say it now, I won’t bother you again, and I’ll leave you to mourn over whatever better past you had back then, when she was alive… When he was alive…”

He flinches, a flicker of pain runs through his half-startled half-angry look. I know. It took me half a day in this house, one portrait and one particular book with an inscription to put all the pieces together and solve the mystery of Mrs. Barlow and her husband. I`m brainy, he knows that. 

“So,” I ask again. “What’ll it be? Shall I go now or…?”

James closes his eyes, exhaling a shallow, “Stay”.

He grabs both sleeves of my shirt, gripping the fabric tight. His eyes are still closed, and his lips – so generously parted, that I cannot help but take advantage of the situation, gently brushing my mouth over his. He reacts with a low moan, and I cannot yet tell whether it’s a moan of pain or pleasure. Still, I can’t deny myself the temptation to deepen the kiss and taste the fullness of his lips for the first time. How many times would I imagine this happening! How many fantasies I had! I would mostly dream of him being assertive, rough, passionate, but never – this vulnerable, almost fragile in my arms. 

“James”, I exhale into the corner of his mouth.

He moans again, louder this time, searches feverishly for my lips. I am surprised at how hungry he is for this, how tight his grip on my shoulders is, how desperate he is for my touch. Somehow it feels that if I push it further, he’d let me take him right here, on the first suitable surface. In the past this was all I could dream of, but not now. We’ve got time now. I`m not going anywhere and neither is he. 

“James”, I whisper into his ear. “It’s all right. We don’t have to rush…”

He pushes back a little, giving me a caring emotional gaze, thankful even. I adore him like this, when he’s breathing hard, cheeks reddened, lips so wet and delicious, and the fire of life sparkling in his eyes for the first time in months. All this life, and all this hunger is for me now, because of me, and I can’t help but smile at the thought.

“Can I help out with your clothes?” I ask, touching the buttons of his shirt, still not sure whether I`m allowed to proceed. He swallows hard, then nods, and I get my fingers working. He looks away at first, clearly too embarrassed to follow my movements. I understand him; he’s used to wearing the shield of his captaincy around me, so as not to allow me to see his vulnerable soul. But that was all in vain, I’m thinking, as I peel the shirt off him, because I’ve seen through his armor. I’ve seen him raging, I’ve seen him desperate. I’ve seen him begging whatever the gods he believed in to send him death. But they sent me instead, and I’m not letting this man go. I’ve had my deal of doubts, but not anymore.

He realizes everything now. I’m sure he’d figured it out years earlier, how it is that I felt for him. I don’t know what he feels for me, but I don’t give a shit about the reason why the Captain is standing in front of me now letting me strip him naked. One thing is clear: this man needs me, and he wants me, too, that should do for the moment, and we’ll figure everything out later…

I notice a fresh wound on his left upper arm, just a scratch already healing. A stray bullet has left it, and I flinch at the thought of it finding its target… Several inches away from the heart… I can’t hold myself together anymore, so I kiss James on his left shoulder. When he’s all naked, I can’t take my eyes of his cock. I feel my mouth fill with fluid just at the thought of sucking on it, licking along its shaft from the hilt to the very tip. Flint notices my devouring look and smirks to himself. Our eyes meet for a quick second and that’s when I get it: he’s going to let me do him tonight, no doubts about that.

When he gets into the bathtub, I take a stool and sit next to him. As he soaks in and relaxes, we exchange information about the battles. He tells me how they managed to defeat the English army, with lots of casualties, but still prevailing. I tell him how unexpected Edward Teach was, appearing out of nowhere with his fleet, beating the shit out of the little forces the British had left in Nassau, and thus declaring the New Providence island a pirate republic once again. I tell James how, of course, I was helping Teach, how one ship managed to escape, carrying the sick Governor and Eleanor Guthrie, how they’re likely to muster more force and come back one day, and we’ll probably have to unite our forces to fight back the Spanish threat, should they ever come at all. He’s listening closely while I talk, looking at me with a content smile. I notice the expression of delight on his face, and I feel happy myself, for it is I, who managed to get him settled so comfortably, it is I, who brought him the feeling of home once again.

The dinner isn’t exactly a feast, but the chicken soup and the bread are both fresh, and I only just now notice how starving I am. And James is, too. He’s consuming the soup in such a hurry, as if he expects this meal to vanish by magic, if he doesn’t finish it up soon. 

“Sorry, I didn’t manage to acquire any vegetables, t’was a busy day,” I say apologetically. “The farmers are actually quite nice here. I never imagined they’d agree to sell anything to a man like me.”

“Why, Billy?” Flint chuckles. “I`m sure they all see you as a gentleman. Having not seen you in action, I mean… Somehow your face doesn’t strike as a particularly murderous type.”

“Which is quite wrong,” I add with a bit of a laughter. Odd, isn’t it, sitting at a table like this, flirting in our quirky style, discussing murders and other pirate things, laughing about it… I know how low we’ve sunk, how sinful we both are, how rotten we’re thought to be by those so-called ‘civilized people’. Thing is, I don’t care in the slightest. If there is God, and heaven, and hell, then, of course, we’re going to the latter place. Which is fine, as long as we’re together. But what if this life’s all we got? What if there’s only darkness ahead? Somehow such an idea makes rare moments like this even more precious. 

I take out a bottle of rum. We’ve never ever drunk together before, isn’t it just the time? The bottle is small, just enough for two people to relax without losing their heads completely. I have an ulterior motive to get Flint just a little bit high on his drink, to the extent where the alcohol lets one unleash their hidden desires, open them up and kill the shame. I want him just like that… I want Flint.

“I swear, Billy, I could just marry you,” he claims after his third glass. “With such a generous greeting you prepared…”

“Don’t swear, if you don’t mean it.” I retort, raising my glass. 

“Maybe I do?” he sounds playful enough. I get up from my chair, approach him. James follows my movement with his look. I come too close, and he gasps, when I place my both hands on his shoulders, as I lean down and mash our mouths together. He grabs my hips, prompting me to straddle him. As I do so, the chair makes a loud cracking noise, threatening to collapse. As much as I love to be positioned like that, with my groin brushing deliciously against the captain’s, making him gasp and moan for more touch, I’m not ready to risk ruining this perfect moment by the idea of falling on the floor most ungraciously. Besides, there simply isn’t enough furniture in this house for us to ruin.

So I get up, eliciting a shallow sigh from James. He sounds displeased, frowning at the loss of close contact. I pull him up by the hand, and whisper into his ear, nibbling gently on the earlobe:

“There are places in this house far more suitable for the task, James...”

The rum’s making me way more confident than I could imagine. I brush my lips against the skin of his neck, making him shiver and gasp. I can see how ready James is, impatient and horny. I wonder how long it’s been since he let a man touch him like that. I’m not into casual sex myself, although it is mostly for the reason that Nassau Inn doesn’t employ male prostitutes. But whenever we ported in Tortuga, I would visit their brothel for a quick blow job. Of course, I was always dreaming that it was my captain, down on his knees, servicing my cock… Of course, I could never have dreamed of having him for real, all to myself. Yet here he is, so undone, starving for my touch. Ready for it, too.

I let him take me to bed, and he chooses the one bedroom that I assumed was theirs, where he slept with Miranda. I am quite pleased by the choice, as he doesn’t lead me to the guest room. I am no longer a guest in this house. Good that he understands that, too.

Out of a hundreds of my dreams of this moment, this one is most incredibly unimaginable. I never thought James would be so easy to comply with this, kisses and moans, needy touches and shallow gasps. What had to happen, I wonder, how bloody this battle should have been, what demons he faced, what revelations he received, that enabled him to understand and accept, and begin to value my feelings? His own feelings, too? The thought crosses my mind, but I don’t let myself get distracted, because here we are, both of us, desperate for each other. How is it not a dream?

“Billy,” he whispers, his hands shaking, when he’s trying to undo the laces on my pants. We strip each other hastily, and fall on the bed together, arms and legs entangled, our bodies grinding against one another. James’s kisses taste a little like rum, and a lot more like pure bliss. He’s not at all embarrassed anymore, kissing me with raw need and passion, just like I’ve always imagined he would.

I place my kisses everywhere, making sure not a single piece of his skin is deprived of the touch of my hungry mouth. It’s been a while since I had sex, but I also think this is the very first time when I’m making love. I’ve had so many feelings, buried inside, so much pure emotion. Love. I love him, goddamnit, I love him so much, and I can still hardly realize that he’s here with me. Mine. All mine. For as long as I want him, I`m sure of that now. I have his naked body covered with my own, as I slide up and down on him, pressing gentle kisses onto his skin, licking and biting my way up and down his neck, in between the collar bones, squeezing his nipples between my teeth, eliciting the sweetest moans mixed with all kinds of curses.

“For fuck’s sake…” James gasps when I bite his nipple. “Billy…”

I get up to his face, brush my lips against his and then dive into a deep wet kiss. 

“Jesus…” he mutters, when I break away for a breath. “Jesus, Billy…”

“Do you want me, James?” I breathe into his ear, straddling him strongly with my both hips. He nods quite impatiently. “How do you want me?” 

I continue interrogating him, my voice low, my breath hot with desire. The rum adds up to my confidence and I find myself enjoying this dominant position over Flint. Without an answer he darts his whole body up, brushing his hard cock against mine. He takes both our members together and starts grinding them against one another. This is when I lose it completely, turning into a quivering whimpering mess. I plunge into his mouth, moaning into the kiss, begging him not to stop.

“James… James” I say his names again and again, like an incantation, enjoying the taste of this name on my lips. I’ve been quite used to calling him Captain all these years, but somehow this way is so much better, and easier, too.

We’re both too horny and to desperate to last long. He comes first, and I go off next, at the feeling of his semen on my stomach, and as he continues to rub my cock with his wet palm. I collapse right onto him, breathing heavily, as I bury my face into his neck. I place sweet tender kisses on his skin there. 

Flint embraces me with his both arms, pinning me closer, harder. Kisses me on the temple.  
“Tell me we aren’t finished yet, Billy?” he whispers, hot breath brushing against my ear. I pull back and look into his sparkling sea-green eyes.

“Oh, no. Don’t even think that,” I promise.

“Then we’ll probably need something to continue. If you just let me?” James asks, attempting to get up. I roll over to my back reluctantly, but as I’m guessing what it is that he’s going for, I make no attempts to stop him.  
Flint comes back with a bottle of oil and some rum in a flask. He places the oil on the bedside table and tosses me the flask. I make two gulps from it, and then pass it back to him. James drinks, too, and then puts it aside, next to the oil.

This time he’s all over me, touching, and licking, and biting, and squeezing – all he can do to make me writhe and shudder, and whimper, and call his name out loud – he does it. I don’t know where to put my hands, the physical pleasure being too much to bear. But even more pleasurable is the idea that it’s him, captain Flint, my captain… my James… doing this to me, making me feel so needed, so precious, worshipped even. When he covers my cock with his mouth, I stop breathing for a moment, and I fear I`m going to come again just at the thought of his lips, pressed tightly around my hard member. 

James is thorough, as he works me up slowly. I guess he’s planning to fuck me. I had no expectations about this time, apart from us being naked in bed together, which is why whatever way it may go will be perfect for me. I watch him through half closed eyelids, how he reaches after the oil rubbing it over his fingers. I lick my lips in anticipation and set my legs wide apart, demonstrating all the eagerness to be taken by him. My captain smirks, as he continues sucking on my length, extorting pleasurable moans from me, turning me into more of a messy, hot, needy bitch, begging to be fucked.

“Please, James…” I mutter, gasping for air, “please…”

“What is it Billy?” he enquires with a nasty grin. “If you like me to do something particular, why don’t you just say so?”

“For fuck’s sake, James!” I roar now, “Just do it already.”

“Do what?”

“Me! Fuck me, James! Please!”

He does it with one finger first, stretches me gently and leisurely, surely enjoying my moans and my curses. He adds another one and starts moving with a steady rhythm, still too slow to my taste, but going deeper with each penetration, brushing just at that sweet spot inside me, making me curse even more. I put my arms behind the pillow, squeeze it spastically, when he adds the third finger. His rhythm is faster now, and I help him out, pushing back at him, so that that he goes deeper.

“Please… please… Do it now… F-fuck… just.. fuck me already!” I almost whine as I beg him, so James decides to show me some mercy. He pulls back and positions himself over me. Helps to place my legs over his shoulders. I’ve never been fucked like this before, another man facing me, looking me right in the eyes.

My captain leans in to kiss me as he pushes against my entrance, oil dripping from his cock onto the sheets. I gasp as he fills me, arching my back, pushing against his pressure. I want him inside, buried deep into me. I’ve wanted this for years now. How many times I would jack off to this very idea!

He starts fucking me lazily at first, pushing in and then almost taking his cock out. That’s when I whine, and moan, and beg him come back, beg him to fuck me faster and harder, and when he continues his play, I roar, and cry out loud, and I swear and curse and then I beg again. He likes me like that, and I like myself, too, hot needy feverish mess, writhing in his arms, whispering his name over and over again.

“Mine, at last…” I whisper into his lips, as he leans down to kiss me again. “As I am yours… Captain…”

Me calling him “Captain” turns Flint on, he speeds up, going faster and faster, fucking my brains out. I know he’s close, so I start stroking myself, adjusting my movements to his rhythm, muttering his name yet again, like some kind of a voodoo spell. He gives me a deep kiss, when he suddenly freezes, and then pushes hard a couple more times into me. That’s when I feel his hot liquid inside, and it takes just two or three strokes for me to climax, too with a loud “Oh, God! James…” right against his lips, wet and swollen from all my hungry kisses.

He pulls back and rolls to the left side of me. I place my head onto his shoulder. We don’t bother cleaning ourselves, as we know the night is still young and we are both so not finished… We may need some rest, sure, but I know I won’t let James out of this bed just yet. Tonight he belongs to me. All of him. He knows it, and he has nothing against it, that’s the best part of it all.

We lie in each other’s arms, sweaty and exhausted, panting heavily, yet both content by the outcome of this encounter. I expect Flint to just drift away to sleep, but that’s when it’s time for another pleasant surprise. He wants to talk, who could have thought, really? Surprisingly, he talks about Ben.

“This new boy,” James starts, as he reaches for the flask and makes one hungry gulp from it before he passes it to me. “Ben Gunn…”

“What’s with him?” I take a drink, feeling burning liquid flow in my throat.

“He knows, doesn’t he? About us?”

“He does,” I notice Flint’s eyebrow go up, and hurry to explain, “I haven’t told him. Every sane man with eyes would see it, that’s what he said to me.”

“About us…” James repeats, filling my heart with pure joy by the way he pronounces this word.  
“Us”.

I can’t hold myself from placing a gentle kiss on his temple.

“I love you, James…”

He doesn’t say it back, and I don’t need it, really. I know he does love me, too, even though he might not realize it yet. Hell, even if he does, it could still be hard for him to say these words. Still, he touches my chin with his fingers and as he turns my face to look at him, he whispers:

“Thank you, Billy”, right against my lips, parted so conveniently for a kiss. “Thank you for brining me back home…”

And as I dive into the kiss, my whole existence dissolving in the feeling, I’m thinking, what a lucky man I am, holding my beloved in my arms, melting at his sweet caress, dreaming of nothing but his closeness. How little I need to be like this, yet how much I really have. How much is the “now” for both of us: we may face another danger tomorrow; we may fight against the Spanish, or the English again and again; we may die tomorrow – but none of it matters now, for now we have each other, and we have a home. We are each other’s home.

The end.


End file.
